


the devil in us all

by Cantabo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hunter Sam, Mary Lives, Multi, Non-Hunter Dean, buckle up my lovelies, tags and warnings updated as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantabo/pseuds/Cantabo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I swear to God, John! I want to see my boy!” </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“You’ll see him!”</i> </p><p>  <i>And with the roar of an engine, the entire neighborhood knew that the Winchester family was broken.</i> </p><p>AU where Mary Winchester was not killed by the yellow eyed Demon. Instead, Mary and John divorced, each taking a son and parting ways.</p><p>On hiatus due to personal problems. I'm sorry, but I will finish this, eventually. Read with the knowledge it's like 1/8th done currently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of the canon-compliant characters are mine. Any characters otherwise in this story ARE mine. I do not own supernatural or any of the ideas presented in the television show. This is a work of fiction.
> 
> idea presented in a [tumblr post](http://queercommanders.tumblr.com/post/110246066696/au-where-dean-is-raised-by-mary) by Lisa. Idea is hers, and I took it about seventeen bajillion miles too far.

_Photo and idea by_ [ _lisa_ ](http://queercommanders.tumblr.com/post/110246066696/au-where-dean-is-raised-by-mary)

**_November 2, 1983_ **

_“Johnathan Winchester, I swear to God. If you don’t bring my boy by every six months I will hunt you down and hit you with that damned car you love so much.”_

_“Yeah, yeah. Why not just finish the job, huh?”_

_“Oh that’s rich!”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean? This marriage took two people!”_

_“Yeah, two to participate, but what happens when one is too busy banging their secretary to come home? Shit always hits the fan, John!”_

_“I didn’t lay a hand on her and you know it! If you wanted a way out you could have just said so! I love you too damn much to hurt you like that!”_

_“Love me? Is that what you call it? You don’t love me. I don’t know what in God’s name you said to the judge to make him think you loved us enough to get one of our boys, but you don’t even know the meaning of love! I can’t believe I started a family with you!”_

_“I will always love you! I can’t believe you’d just end it all over this! You never even let me explain myself!”_

_“What’s there to explain? I saw it all! You can’t pretend that I didn’t!”_

_“You saw what you wanted, not what happened. You’re delusional!”_

_“I am completely sane, and for the first time in four years I know that I’m doing the right thing. Now get out of my house, and don’t you dare come back unless it’s because of Sam.”_

_“How about this? I just won’t come back at all! Sammy can hitch a bus if he wants to see your hysterical ass!”_

_“I swear to God, John! I want to see my boy!”_

_“You’ll see him!”_

_And with the roar of an engine, the entire neighborhood knew that the Winchester family was broken._

**_1984_ **

_“Mommy, where’s Sammy?” young Dean Winchester asked for the fifth time that day. Mary sighed, putting the spoon of medicine down. Dean’s running a fever of 100° and had been asking the same question all day._

_Since the divorce was finalized, things had been hard for Mary. The neighbors have been supportive and understanding, offering to watch Dean while she’s at work and helping out with meals whenever they can. However, Dean’s pre-school teacher called today, telling Mary Dean had a fever and has been coughing. Mary rushed over to pick him up, and has been dealing with a slightly crabby Dean ever since._

_“I told you, baby. Sammy’s staying with Daddy for a while,” Mary explained, again. It’s harder and harder each time._

_“But when are they coming back? I miss them!”_

_“I know, angel. I miss them, too. Sometimes though, we just gotta put on our big kid pants and deal with it,” Mary explained. It still ached to think about John leaving, she loved him like the day was long. It still hurt to think about walking in to bring John his dinner and catching him with his secretary in his lap. It still stung to think about how he could throw away an eight year relationship for a stupid fling._

_“But why?” Dean asked petulantly._

_“Because, angel. Life is hard like that, if it was easy than it would be too boring. You work through the pain to get to the good stuff,” Mary explained. She was a firm believer in telling Dean the truth about life. She refused to keep her son in the dark because talking about certain things made her uncomfortable._

_“Okay, Mommy. Can you make me a sandwich with the crusts cut off?” Dean asked._

_Mary smiled and nodded, pulling the blanket around him up to cover his arms._

_“Remember, Dean, angels are watching over you,” Mary said._

_-_

_“Damnit, Sam! You got to stop crying!” John shouted, rubbing his temples. His life had gone to shit. Complete shit. Mary had been the light at the end of the tunnel. Now his tunnel is just shit. Everything is so frustrating now, he has no idea how he managed Sam before things got difficult. And to top it all off, there’s a werewolf a state over._

_“Don’t yell at him John, he’s eight months old, ya idgit, and you’ve just put both of ‘ya into a very harsh lifestyle!” Bobby said, walking up behind John to smack him on the side of the head._

_“Bobby, I don’t know what to do! I can’t live without her, I need to do something good,” John said, sitting down on the couch as he held Sam in his arms._

_“You can too live without her. You’re the one that shouldn’t have let her throw the divorce papers at you without getting to explain yourself first. This is something that you just have to sit up and take. You have a kid here, and I’ll help when I can, but damnit John, this boy needs you more than you need to wallow in your own pity,” Bobby said, sitting down across from John, hoping to knock some sense into him._

_John looked up at Bobby, and then down at Sam. He was still crying, although not as loud as before. He changed the way he was holding Sam, surprised to see that Sam stopped crying almost immediately. A small bloom of feeling opened up in his chest, and for the first time in months he saw a silver lining in his son’s eyes._

_“See? It’s just going to take work,” Bobby said. “Now, what’s this you were saying about a werewolf in Des Moines?”_

**_1988_ **

_“Mommy? Can I ask you something?” Dean asked sheepishly from the living room. Mary was in the kitchen, her hair tied up and covered in flour. She was working to make enough pies for the annual bake-sale to get the PTA President Mrs. Lambert off her ass for a few months._

_“Of course angel, what’s up?” Mary said as she lifted Dean up to sit him on the counter, where he could at least help her roll the dough. She handed him a smaller rolling pin, and couldn’t help the smile when he automatically began rolling the dough, sprinkling flour every few rolls, just like she had taught him._

_“Mommy, will you still love me if I want to take dance classes?” dean asked. He kept his eyes focused so steadily on the dough he was rolling. Mary put down the rolling pin, grabbed his face gently, and made him look her in the eyes._

_“Angel, I will still love you if you run away to be a rodeo clown,” Mary said, as seriously as she could. The smile she got in return put the very sun to shame._

_The last four years had not been easy, but Mary had managed to secure a position on the school board in Lawrence to keep up rent. She fought daily with angry parents and uncaring social workers. PTA meetings were in some ways worse that fighting with her father all those years ago. She remembered her childhood, memorizing Latin chants and lore, cutting the heads off of vampires and searching for demonic omens in her free time._

_The thought of putting Dean into something like that made her sick to her stomach. Here her flesh and blood was, asking to take dance classes, when at his age she could recite an exorcism from memory. The fact that she had survived this long alone, and had managed to keep her son in the dark from the horrors that come in their bloodline, made her so inexplicably proud of herself she couldn’t find the words._

_“Can I take ballet? It’s good for your circulation,” Dean said seriously. A nice nurse that Dean reverently referred to as Nurse Candy had come into Dean’s class the other day and explained to them that physical activity was very important, and that activities such as dance and swimming were good for circulation. Dean had taken Nurse Candy’s advice as word, and had dutifully asked Mary about it as soon as he worked up the nerve._

_“You can take whatever kind you want,” Mary said. She affectionately rubbed Dean’s head, getting flower everywhere. Dean smiled mischievously and threw a handful of flour at her. Everything dissolved to them both childishly throwing flour at each other from there._

_-_

_“Okay Sammy, draw it for me again, it needs to be perfect,” John said, sliding another piece of paper towards his son. Sam looked up at him, his brow set in frustration._

_“Dad, I’m trying, but I can’t get the little squiggles right,” Sam groaned. Trying to memorize how to draw a devil’s trap was so frustrating, and very pointless. John bit his lip to stop himself from correcting the fact that they aren’t called ‘_ squiggles.’

_“But Uncle Bobby even said that demons are only seen like… twice a year,” Sam said, holding up three fingers._

_Bobby walked by and gently folded one of Sam’s fingers back down, so that he was holding up the correct number. Sam turned and gave Bobby a big smile in thanks, and John sighed. Sam’s concentration was officially lost. They’d just start up again tomorrow._

_“Hey, Daddy?” Sam asks later that night, as John is tucking him into what is now his bed in a spare room upstairs. John looks at Sam, then, who looks more like him than he’d secretly like. He wished his boy had kept some of Mary’s features, God knows she’s got better genes than he does. Deep down, John secretly wonders what Dean looks like now. It’s been four years since he has seen his son, and he hadn’t heard from Mary since the night she threw him out. He called for months, but after her never picking up, he just stopped calling._

_“Yeah, son?”_

_“Where are Mommy and Dean? How come we don’t live with them?” Sam asked, shrinking in on himself slightly as he asked._

_John sighed in frustration. How many times do they have to have this conversation?_

_“I’ve told you, son. I don’t know where they are,” John said, trying to keep his patience. Even after all these years it’s still difficult to keep his cool on the subject of Mary and Dean._

_“But why not?” Sam asked, his eyes brimming with curiosity. John knows his boy is smart, he’s already started first grade early, and can read Latin like a second language. John is proud of him, he really is, but his questions are just the last thing John wants to hear right now._

_“Because I said so!” John said, and realized he had said it too loudly when Sam flinched and pulled his blanket up to his chin. John sighed and stood up._

_“Night Sammy,” He said as he turned off the light and shut the door. As he closed the door, he ran smack into Bobby, who was shaking his head at John disapprovingly._

_“Shut up, Singer,” John grumbled as he brushed by Bobby._

**_1992_ **

_Mary’s days were now filled with school board meetings, interviews, parent conferences, and Dean Dean Dean. He was her everything. She loved him more than she could comprehend. She loved him so much that it could almost numb the pain of where her love for Sam should go. Almost. She hasn’t seen her second son in almost eight years, but the pain of not being able to see Sam every day still hurt. She drowned this out by making Dean her world. She went to every one of Dean’s swim meets, soccer games, and dance performances. She played soccer every Saturday with Dean in the park, and danced around the house to The Beatles with Dean on Sundays. He was her best friend, and Mary felt no shame in telling the world that._

_“Which one is yours?” the lady next to Mary asked. Mary smiled at her through the dark of the theater at the woman next to her._

_“The one on the left, he’s very tall for his age,” Mary said, fondly pointing to Dean on stage. The lady craned her neck before she smiled and nodded. A light classical piece came on, and all the children up on stage moved somewhat together to their choreography. Mary was inwardly proud that Dean seemed to be one of the few who actually knew it._

_“It’s very interesting that you put your son in ballet, most mothers wouldn’t like their son’s participation in that,” the lady said. Mary smiled wider to hide her irritation. The amount of remarks she had gotten over her supposed corruption of Dean in the last four years grow more frustrating every time._

_“Actually, I had nothing to do with it. It was all his idea. He also swims and plays soccer,” Mary said, trying to remain civil, if only because they were in a public space. If they weren’t, Mary would totally punch this bitch’s lights out, no doubt about it. No one insults her son or her parenting skills, Mary knew she was a good mother._

_“Wow, nice to see a boy take interest in the fine arts. You must watch out though, sometimes they wind up a little too fruity,” The woman said, sneering._

_“Hmm,” Mary hummed. The possibility of words was beyond her, at this point. This woman was asking to get her ass kicked._

_Mary turned away, shifting so her body was faced in the other direction in what she hoped was a clear sign that the conversation they had been having was over. Instead she focused on her son dancing on stage._

_She was so focused on Dean that she missed the lady’s eyes flash black next to her._

_-_

_“Hey Uncle Bobby,” Sam called from the kitchen. Bobby looked up from the book he was reading._

_“Yeah?” He gruffed, blinking repeatedly to try and settle his blurred vision. Had he gone to sleep last night? Everything has blurred together in Bobby’s mind at this point_

_“Who is Ellen? Why are you and Dad leaving me with her for a week?” Sam said, shifting nervously in his seat. Bobby stood up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a beer along the way. He sat down next to Sam, who was working on both his homework for school and researching a Rougarou at the same time._

_“Because, Rougarous are dangerous, they eat humans, and we can’t risk you getting hurt,” Bobby said. Sam nodded, not even phased by the fact that he knew about monsters that eat human meat. Bobby felt a stab of sympathy, Sam wasn’t even getting a chance at a normal childhood._

_“So you’re leaving me there… to keep me safe?” Sam asked, tilting his head in confusion._

_“Yes, Ellen’s good people. She has a daughter that’s a year younger than you, and she has a big backyard that you can play in,” Bobby said, poking Sam in the side, where he knew Sam was ticklish. Sam squealed a laugh and stuck his tongue out at Bobby. Bobby smiled and sipped on his beer._

_“Hey Uncle Bobby, wanna know a secret?” Sam whispered to him._

_“Sure,” Bobby agreed._

_“I found this in Dad’s car, it’s my most favorite thing,” Sam said as he pulled an old picture out of the front pocket on his overalls. He handed the picture to Bobby sheepishly, and put a finger to his lips._

_It was Mary and Dean. Well, Dean when he was probably four. Mary had her arm around him, and they were both smiling big for the camera. Bobby turned it over to see John’s scrawl, **Mary and Dean – 1983**._

_“You keep this safe, understand?” Bobby said after a minute, handing Sam back the picture. John had undoubtedly noticed the picture was missing, but Bobby figured if no one brought it up he’d probably just let Sam keep it._

_Sam nodded and smiled, putting the picture back into his chest pocket._

**_1996_ **

_“Come on, Dean! You can do it!” Mary shouted from the stands. She jumped up and down, waving the poster that her and Dean had made last night as high as she could. Dean weaved in between people, nimble as they come, and kicked the ball into the net, scoring the Lawrence Lions another point. Mary screamed and cheered, louder and more obnoxious that all the other mothers combined._

_Dean looked at her and smiled, gesturing with his hand for her to cut it out. Mary just smiled bigger and waved her poster in defiance._

_The referee blew the whistle, and both teams huddled in. Dean had explained the rules to her at least ten times, but she always got a little confused past kick the ball in the right net and don’t use hands. Soccer is just one of those things she doesn’t get, but it’s her favorite sport because it’s Dean’s favorite sport._

_Hours later, after Dean’s victorious soccer game, his daily dance practice, and a few laps in the community pool, Mary and Dean had finally sat down for dinner. Dean was scarfing down his burger, which Mary promised she’d make if he won his game. She would have made it either way, but the incentive always seemed to brighten Dean’s day._

_“Dean, slow down, you’re going to hurt yourself. Again,” Mary said fondly. Dean looked up at her, cheeks overstuffed with food, and smiled. Mary flicked him on the forehead as she laughed at him._

_“Gross!” She laughed, taking a bit of her own burger._

_They ate for a while in companionable silence, only interrupted with Dean’s quiet groans whenever he took a bite. Mary didn’t mind, she knew she made killer burgers. The appreciation was not wasted on her._

_“Hey mom?” Dean asked between one bite and the next. Mary hummed in response, setting her own burger down to wipe her mouth with her napkin._

_“Do you remember when I asked you about dance classes, and you told me you’d love me no matter what?” Dean asked. His eyes never left the plate as he spoke, and that caught Mary’s attention._

_“Yeah. What’s going on, angel?” Mary asked._

_“Well I... I kind of like someone…” Dean trailed off, stuffing what looked like half of his burger into his mouth at once. Mary pulled his hands down, motioning for him to chew slowly so he didn’t choke or swallow his tongue or something._

_“Well that’s great honey, tell me about them,” Mary said once he had swallowed his food._

_“Well, they’re great, they sit behind me in English and they’re super smart and funny,” Dean said, smiling as he ducked his head down._

_“They?” Mary asked._

_“Yeah, um… Micah,” Dean said, eyes boring holes into the table. Mary nodded, suddenly Dean’s behavior made much more sense._

_“Dean, are you scared that I won’t love you because you like a boy?” Mary asked. She had always made sure she told Dean how much she loved him, because it embarrassed him, but also because she had already lost one son, she wasn’t about to lose another._

_“Well… yeah. I mean – you saw what happened to James Pratt and his mom, they don’t even talk now,” Dean shrugged. He grabbed his burger and opened his mouth to cram the rest in, but Mary’s hand shot out before he could take a bite._

_“Dean, I will love you no matter what. I love you so much that I brought you into this world. I’ll love you no matter who you like, or what you do, or what you say. I am not James Pratt’s mother, and speaking of which, you invite that boy over for dinner. I can’t stand seeing a family torn apart like that,” Mary said, pointing at Dean with a fry._

_Dean’s smile was blinding. He nodded and picked up his burger again, taking, thankfully, a much smaller bite._

_-_

_“Don’t think I don’t know about you, Sammy. I know everything,” The balding man spat. His eyes were an empty, vague black, creating a stark contrast to his salt and pepper beard._

_Twelve year-old Sam looked back to his father and Bobby, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His father shook his head and held out a fist. Bobby simply mimicked the look on Sam’s face. Sam turned back to the demon, splashing some more holy water on him. The demon screamed and writher in his confinements._

_“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” Sam said._

_“You’re supposed to be king, you know,” the Demon said nonchalantly._

_“What do you mean, king?” Sam asked before he could stop himself._

_“The boy king, Sam Winchester! All hail! All hail! Bow down before your king! Every creature and being shall know your name! All hail the King! All hail the King!” The demon chanted. Sam rolled his eyes and finished the exorcism. This was going nowhere fast._

_The demon was banished with a loud bang and a cloud of ominous black smoke. The scent of rotten eggs lingered everywhere, afterwards. Sam could smell it on his skin, his clothes, even his hair._

_As he climbed up the stairs, he realized he could hear little parts of a hushed conversation between John and Uncle Bobby, obviously not meant for his ears. Naturally, Sam decided to eavesdrop._

_“I know it’s not the first one that’s said that… can’t let it affect… idgit!”_

_“Coincidence only stretches so far… something is going on…”_

_“I know you’re bitter… can’t take it out on Sam!”_

_“… fourth demon… call him that!”_

_“I know… ignore… idgit!”_

_“… can’t ignore… that’s no coincidence, Bobby!”_

_“Then hit the books, not… keep him in the dark until… it’s the least you can do…. dragged him into this life… not fair at all!”_

_“Don’t talk about fair…”_

_Sam shook his head, he didn’t want to hear any more of this conversation. He went upstairs, to what was now officially his room, and collapsed on his bed. He kicked his shoes off, rolling over to try and get some sleep._

_Three hours later, however, Sam was still in bed, thinking about what had happened earlier. He wondered why the demon had called him a king. It seemed like the type of nonsense demons sometimes babbled out during exorcisms, but when Sam linked it in with what his father had said, the whole thing stuck him as odd. He couldn’t help but wonder about everything that had happened that night. He decided to keep pursuing it. It could lead to answers he had been denied his whole life._

**_2000_ **

_“That’s it Ladies and Gentlemen! It’s all over! Winchester scores and the game is over! KU takes the State Title at a nail-biting 3 to 2!” The announcer, along with the crowd, went wild._

_Dean scored the winning goal and Mary is on top of the world. Her son is amazing. Dean’s across the field from where Mary stood, trying and failing to scamper away from his teammates as they rushed to him, which Mary can’t help but find extremely hilarious. It’s similar to watching someone walk up an escalator going down, because no matter how hard Dean struggled, his teammates continued screaming and jumping on him._

_After several minutes of struggle, Dean finally escaped their dogpile, and jogged over to Mary, who smiled at him so big her cheeks actually kind of hurt. But she didn’t care. Her flesh and bones has done this. She has done this. She raised him and helped him grow and shown him right from wrong and look at where he is. He’s a man and she made this and she’s so proud of him and so modestly proud of herself she can’t keep her happiness in control. He’s in college. He’s done all this and he’s only twenty-two and it blows Mary’s mind what more he’ll most likely accomplish._

_He ran up to her, gave her what can only be described as a bear hug, and then lifted her feet off the ground and spun her in a circle. She squealed and smacked at his shoulder lightly._

_“Dean! Dean Winchester put me down!” Mary cried, although her smile betrayed her._

_He did set her down, but not before spinning her once more. Mary stepped back to look at him._

_His red uniform stunk. Like, he really smelled. His face was soaked in sweat and he was still panting form the game. He had her freckles and her hair and he was her, and she was so viciously proud of him that she couldn’t resist giving his another hug. This one gentler, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, running her hand through his soaking hair._

_“I am so proud of you, Dean Winchester. You did this. You worked hard and you put yourself out there and you have grown into such a wonderful young man. I love you so much,” She whispered in his ear._

_He pulled her closer and whispered back “I love you too.”_

_She pushed him away after a few minutes, nodding towards Micah, who was standing quietly off to the sidelines, away from the panic and commotion. He was wearing a brown jacket that wasn’t his (Mary was confident she knew whose it was), and fiddling with his fingers nervously._

_“Go say hello to your boyfriend,” She said quietly. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and sauntered over to the man._

_Micah looked up at him and smiled, showing Dean all of his teeth. Although Dean’s back was to Mary, she could tell he was smiling back. He pulled Micah into his arms and kissed him. Right then and there in the middle of the soccer field. Mary smiled softly, suddenly feeling like an intruder. Her son was all grown up. Not for the first time, she felt a stab of sadness mixed in with all her pride._

_She knew Dean would want to spend time with Micah and his team, so she went ahead and left, picking up some groceries on the way home._

_-_

_Sam sighed, irritated. He was being shut out again, he could tell. For the last two years, anytime he’d poked at any sort of topic that his father deems as confidential, he gets shut out. First it was just his dad, but then it was Bobby too, looking the other way when Sam’s questions got too deep. Too personal. Too much._

_Sam knew something was off, he just didn’t know how to go about asking, and so he started doing his own digging._

_What he found was unpleasant, to say the least. The first thing he did, naturally, was go to Jo. John and Bobby barely noticed his leaving, just minutely lifted up a hand in goodbye._

_A two hour drive later and he was pulling up to the Roadhouse in his trusty Impala. Ellen waved him inside, ushering his to the backroom, and shutting the door right behind her. She kept telling not to show his mug in her bar, he looked twelve and it was bad for business. Sam understood, he had a baby face._

_Jo walked in a minute later, popping the cap off two beers and handing one to Sam. He smiled and tipped it towards her in thanks before taking a sip._

_“What’s goin’ on, Sam? What couldn’t you tell me over the phone?” Jo questioned, no bullshit in her tone._

_‘It’s something big, Jo. I don’t have all the pieces yet, but I think I found one of them. Look at these case files and tell me what you notice about them all,” Sam tells her, spreading the papers in front of her. He’s found eight in total._

_Jo studies them for some time. Jo is smart. Sam knows she can find this connection, she has good eyes and a good head on her shoulders._

_After about ten minutes, Jo sits back, her eyes wide._

_“Sam, all these women died the same month. And the same way,” Jo said quietly, her eyes never leaving the papers in front of her._

_“Do you know what else happened on November of 1983?” Sam whispered, eyeing his beer._

_Jo shook her head, finally drawing her eyes up to Sam’s._

_“My parents’ divorce,” he whispers._


	2. Chapter 2

**2002**

Samuel Winchester rolls over in his bed, glaring at the wall. _Today is the day,_ he thinks. Today is the day he is going to show John and Bobby everything he’s gathered. Six years of digging, digging, searching, and more digging. Those first connections had been a jumping off point, granted, a large one, but still. With the internet blowing up the way it had, research had become easier. He learned the ins and out of various search engines, dug through his local paper database, and read every book in Bobby’s possession. Twice.

He knows something is going on, and after years of watching Bobby and John lie to his face, hearing them say they’re going to hunt a vamp nest or follow a rumored demon trail. Sam is fed up. He’s going to confront them today, and he’s not going to let them worm their way out of it. He’s twenty and he knows what he is doing now.

So when he hears them clomp in downstairs, slamming the back door shut and kicking off their boots, Sam springs into action. He runs downstairs and asks John and Bobby to take a look at the runes he’s just put up in the Panic Room, to make sure they’re right and whatnot.

They both agree, and follow him downstairs. Sam lets them go in first, then shuts the door behind them, locking them inside.

There are no new runes up on the wall. Instead, it’s pictures. Notes. News articles. Statistics. Dates. Court reports. Mythology. Everything Sam has gathered in the last four years, held up and bared for their review.

They don’t pound on the door. Don’t shout, don’t even question why Sam has done this. He’s not crazy, he’s just tired of being shut out.

“Look over this. I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” Sam says, then walks away.

Twenty minutes is a lifetime, but Sam survives, when he goes back downstairs, he opens the door to the panic room, surprised to find them still studying his notes. They don’t look up when he walks in and takes a seat on the cot. They know he’s here, sure, but they say nothing.

“Sam, did you get all of this together yourself?” John asks quietly. His eyes are glued on the dates that he had shown Jo six years ago.

“Yes. Jo and Ash helped a little, mostly me.” Ash had blown into town a few months back, and had been more than willing to contribute to research help.

“Sam, why did you get all this together?” Bobby asks, turning from the wall of mythology to face Sam. For a moment, before turning back.

“I know you guys are hiding something. I have since my first exorcism. It’s about me and what that Demon said and something so much bigger. I know you two know things. This is my way of saying that I’m an adult, and I deserve to be treated like one. I need to know the answers, especially if it involves me, or worse, innocent people,” Sam explains.

“You’re right, Sam. It’s time you found out,” John sighs, sitting down next to Sam on the cot. He rubs the spot between his eyes. Wipes his hands on his pants. Rubs that spot again. Sam takes this all in, watching Bobby keep his back firmly to Sam.

John tells him what they know. Sam wishes they hadn’t.

-

Mary sighs as she chops vegetables. Something isn’t right, she knows it. It’s a sense that her father ingrained in her over the years, when she was a baby and her first word was _Cristo._ It’s something that makes up part of who she is. That hunter part of her that she can’t shut away sometimes no matter how hard she tries. The extra sense she was born with.

_Four funerals._ Four funerals of her childhood friends in the last three months. Its heart wrenching, and suspicious. They’ve all been suicides. But the suicides aren’t suicides, at least not by Mary’s standards.

Four people that had good jobs and happy families and great friends. Four suicides that can’t be suicides, not by a long shot.

The rumble of an engine sounds in the driveway, and Mary knows its Dean, home from class.

In the last two years he’s gotten a bachelor’s degree, opened a dance studio, and is almost done with his master’s degree in engineering. She’s proud of him, and he’s so clearly her little man now. He’s lost all traces of his baby face, now tall and lean and smart as hell. He’s her son.

“Hey mom,” Dean says as he walks in the side door, kissing her on the cheek and grabbing the apple she set out for him off the counter. “I’m going to go for a quick run and then I’ll help you with dinner.” He’s out of the kitchen as soon as he entered, running up the stairs to his old room that he still sleeps in half the time, instead of at his apartment.

Mary knows things are shaky with Micah. She can tell they’ve been fighting by the amount of times his phone will go off, and then how it won’t go off at all for two days. She can tell by the way half of his things are back in his old room and he sleeps here five nights a week. She can tell by the way he’s been thinking of selling his share of the studio (which he and Micah co-own) and focusing full-time on his degree. She can tell because she knows him. Mary knows him like the back of her hand.

Mary sighs and finishes chopping vegetables and moves on to pulling pots and pans out from the cupboards, reading ingredients from the cookbook nearby.

Dean comes down a few minutes later, wearing track pants and a pullover, finishing the last of his apple. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and heads out the door. She smiles as he jogs down to the end of the driveway and down the sidewalk.

Mary lets her mind wander as she searches for a saucepan she swears she had like five minutes ago. Dean is all grown up, a full-blown twenty four year old man. She loves him just as much as she did the first time she held him, and the first time she saw her sonogram. He is a part of her, something she hasn’t gone without in twenty four years.

In some dark part of Mary’s mind she always wonders what life would have been like if there had been no divorce. If her and John would have grown old together, the way they always envisioned them doing when they were stupid and in love.

Mary pushes the thought out of her mind. She pushes John and _Sam_ out of her mind. When she thinks of Sam, it’s like a dam is breaking in her chest, so she never lets herself think of Sam. She focuses on Dean, the one she has now, the one who needs her, the one she can hold on to and not let go.

Dean is truly her crowning achievement. He is the one thing Mary is sure she has done right in her life, and that’s saying something. Mary has killed things, hunted, slayed, carved out herself to be reborn and left her entire life behind to start over. She had lost both of her parents to a demon with yellow eyes, lost her husband and a son, but she had Dean, who grew up better than she ever could have dreamed. Who grew up honest and smart and clever, and so like Mary’s parents that some sick, twisted part of her that she can’t bleach away or hide no matter how much she wants to, that part of her knows that if Dean ever took up her family’s business, he would be unstoppable. He would be a force of unthinkable power.

The thought of her son hunting makes Mary nauseous, and she actually has to sit down and catch her breath. This is how Dean finds her when he walks back into the kitchen. He’s at her side in an instant.

“Mom? Mom are you okay?” Dean’s asking, brushing hair out of her face and looking into her eyes. He’s checking her fever and helping her over to the couch like she’s made of glass.

“Dean, stop,” Mary swats his hands away, “I’m fine. I just got a little sick to my stomach for a second. I’ll be alright,” She says, walking away from his worrisome hands. She opens a bottle of water that was sitting on the kitchen table. After a few sips, she feels her stomach settle and she smiles at Dean.

“Okay… Well If you’re alright, I’m going to take a shower,” Dean says, smiling at her with worried eyes and giving her a quick, sweaty hug before he darts up the stairs. Just as the sound of the shower starts from upstairs, there is a knock on the door.

Strange. Off.

None of the neighbors have ever come by after 6:00. Even if it’s an emergency, they always call first to make sure she’s home. She reverts back to her childhood training. There are some things she couldn’t ingrain out of herself over the years. Her hunter’s instinct and her lack of trust, to name a few.

Mary silently reaches into the cupboard under the sink, feeling around for her gun. It’s been a while since she’s shot it, probably six months or so, whenever she was last at the range while Dean was away with Micah. She knows that over the years her accuracy hasn’t faltered. She is a good shot and she will not miss.

She walks towards the door, silently, listening. She avoids the windows in the living room, staying close to the wall.

There are muted, quiet voices on the other side of the door when she presses her ear to it. All male, from what she can tell. Probably three.

She presses the barrel to the wood of the door with her right hand and opens it with her left.

It’s not what she was expecting, she’ll have to give that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is good for the soul :)


	3. Chapter 3

It can’t be real. She’s opened a door to some alternate universe. John Winchester is standing there, staring at her like he’s seeing a ghost. She is sure she’s got a similar look on her face. The two men behind him, one older and one young, probably younger than Dean, glance at each other and then back at her.

 “Mary, we need to talk,” John says, pushing past her, into _her_ house. She quickly puts the gun in the waistband of her pants, fluffing her blouse over the handle. She motions for the other two men to come in, pointing toward _her_ kitchen, where John has already set up camp at _her_ table.

The older man must be older than John. He has more white than blonde in his beard, a worn baseball cap and a slight beer gut. They all wear some variation of layered plaid shirts and denim. She stared at him, and when he made eye contact, she didn’t back off. He looked away after a few seconds, uncomfortable, like he didn’t belong here. _Which he doesn’t_ , she thinks fiercely.

The third man is large. _Very_ large. He’s even taller than Dean, who is already six feet tall and maybe still growing. His hair is shaggy and falls in his face, way too long, and he’s drowning is clothes that are too big for him. They’re clearly either passed down or were chosen in the store with haste or little regard as to sizing. She can’t help but see a resemblance between him and John. The posture, the facial expressions, the eyes.

She’s got a fire going on in her stomach and her heart is beating like crazy. She doesn’t let it show. Her father drilled the reactions to fear out of her before she went on her first hunt.

It’s John that gets her. John isn’t even John anymore. The John she married was kind and happy and blissfully at ease with the world. This John is hard. He’s got stubble and cold, freezing eyes and he stands perfectly straight, looking around at everything. The food sitting on the counter, the cookbook open, the stereo quietly playing some sort of rock ballad from the sixties that Mary isn’t listening to enough to identify. This John isn’t the John she married twenty five years ago. Mary has a sinking feeling that the John she married died long ago. She has a secret hope that she wasn’t the one who killed him.

“Mary, there’s some things you need to know,” John says. And his voice isn’t even his voice. His voice is nails and claws and fire. What is this?

“You can’t just barge in here, John. Things are different,” Mary says, and her voice is even and smooth. There’s a surge of pride in there somewhere at being her father’s daughter. She shoves the pride down, now is not the time.

“You know I wouldn’t unless it wass life or death,” he reasons, his tone matching hers, even. The man in the baseball cap clears his throat, locks eyes with John, and then looks towards the tall man, who is staring at the pictures on the wall.

“What is this? You show up after God knows how long and expect me to welcome you in? Put you up for a couple nights? Wash your feet?” Mary questions, her tone intensifying. She’s not fucking around, and she’s about to pull the gun out of her waistband and get some real answers. The only thing stopping her is the fact that John doesn’t even know she can shoot a gun. She’d still prefer to keep it that way. The less he knows about that part of her, the better.

“Mary, I promise, I would not have come if it wasn’t important.”

Mary watches them exchange more glances, and fuck, she’s had enough of this.

“John, tell me who these men in my kitchen are right now or you will regret it,” Mary says, evenly. The tall man turns and raises an eyebrow, somewhere between shock and disbelief. The older man snorts a laugh and mutters a quiet _told you_.

“This is Sam,” John says, pointing to the tall man.

Mary shuts down. This is not her Sammy. Her Sammy is six months old and likes to hold her hair when he sleeps in her arms. This is not Sam.

“John, this is about the cruelest joke you could ever play on me,” Mary whispers, and the tall man blinks as if he’s been hurt.

“Mom, it’s me,” The tall man says. Mary’s resolve is crumbling. She looks at him, looks at him looking at her. There isn’t a single thought in her head, just a flood of feelings she can’t sort through or decipher in the slightest.

“Sammy?” She whispers, taking a step forward and then two steps back. Her eyes are filling with tears and damnit she can’t help it. Her son. It’s her son. He’s got John’s eyes and her father’s chin and he’s so tall she doesn’t know where any of it came from.

He’s in her arms, pulling her close. She lets him, so stunned she can’t even bring her arms up to hold him back. This is her Sammy, twenty years old now and a man. A large man. A large man that is holding her in her kitchen. Her arms seems to have minds of their own as they reach up to hold him back, playing with the ends of his hair, rubbing his back.

There’s a long silence where they just hold each other. Sam is too large for her, just like Dean is. He holds her so tight she almost can’t breathe, and she loves it. The more she holds him, the more it sinks in. This is her son, she made two of these, not just one. She feels a deep pocket of shame open for not tracking him down, not watching him grow up like she did with Dean. She has a million questions, who is he now? Who has he been? She wants to know everything about him.

Sam sniffles on her shoulder, and as she pulls him a little tighter, the dam breaks. He’s crying, she’s crying, they’re crying in the middle of her kitchen while her other son takes a shower upstairs, totally unaware.

_Dean_.

Dean needs to meet Sam. He hasn’t asked about him in years, since he was around twelve or so. But Mary knows about the tattoo Dean has, the one over his heart that reads _Samuel_ in tiny script. Micah told her about it, back when he still came to visit her. She forces herself to stop crying. This is not only her reunion.

Mary hold his until the crying stops, holds him after, plays with his hair that is too long and he smells like he hasn’t showered in a few days and Mary needs to fix all of this. Mary needs to know him, because she never got the opportunity.

He pulls away, his eyes watery, and then he hugs her one more time, harder, as if she might not be real. As if she is the one who is imagined, not the other way around, which is what she keeps thinking.

Her son. Her second born son is in this house and this is the first time that she’s had bother of her sons in one house in forever.

When he lets go, there is silence. It’s a different silence. Reverent.

“Dean...” She starts, then stops, taking a deep breath to compose herself. John and Sam both straighten up, as if she’s just pulled the gun out of her waistband.

Sam’s eyes are big and round and pleading, and he looks how she feels, so curious about his long-lost family member he might pass out.

“Is- is he here?” Sam asks, quietly. Like saying anything too loud will break this moment. Like it’s all a dream and he’s going to wake up any second, and he’s trying so hard not to.

“Dean!” She calls out, and damnit her voice wavers. How can it not when both of her sons are in the same house? What is she supposed to do with this?

The bathroom door upstairs cracks open, and Led Zeppelin floods out and down the stairs, where she can see John and Bobby crack smiles out of the corner of her eye. Her son does have good taste in music, she’ll give him that.

“Yeah, mom?” He calls, and Sam’s head jerks at his voice.

“Can you come down here?” She calls, and _why won’t her voice stop shaking?_

“Sure, let me throw on some clothes,” Dean calls, and they hear him padding from one room to another. A door open and a door close. They hear the music cut off a minute later, and then his heavy footfalls down the stairs. No one moves as all of this happens.

Dean’s face, when he walks into the kitchen, is more than a little shocked                                   .

He turns to Mary. “Mom?” He questions, looking as confused as Mary feels.

“Dean, this is Sam…” Mary says, hoping that she won’t have to explain. Dean is a smart man, she prays to every deity she can think of that she won’t have to explain.

Dean stands there, in the doorway to the kitchen, looking like someone just turned into a giant talking gorilla right in front of his eyes.

“Mom, what?” He says, turning to her.

“Your brother, Dean. And your father is here, too,” Mary says, pointing to John.

Dean turns to look at them. He stares, and stares. Then he stares some more. Sam looks so much like him, now that they’re next to each other. Their eyes are almost the same color and they have the same expression on each other’s face.

Dean turns to her again.

“Mom, what is going on?” He asks, his voice huskier than usual. She can tell that he’s trying to hide his emotions, which are probably all over the place, like hers.

“I think what we need to do here is talk,” The older man next to John said.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Dean asks sharply, voicing what Mary was thinking.

“Hi, Bobby Singer. Nice to meet ‘ya,” He says, holding out a hand for Mary and Dean. Mary reluctantly walks forward to grab it, but Dean doesn’t. He looks at Bobby suspiciously, instead. Mary kicks his calf with her foot, and only then does he shake Bobby’s hand.

Mary sits down, across from John, and lets Dean sit next to Sam. She can’t stop staring at him. Her son. Her baby, here, in her kitchen.

This is too surreal. Mary’s sixth sense is freaking out. She needs to know. She _needs_ to know that this is real.

“Can I get you guys some water? I’ll be right back,” Mary says, not giving them time to answer. She goes to the cabinet, getting three glasses, and then fills them up with the pitcher of water from the fridge.

She grabs some lemon slices and heads back to the table, hoping no one thought it was odd for her to pull out a pitcher when there is a perfectly good filtered water faucet in the sink.

They all say thank you, taking a sip to be polite. Nothing. Mary’s shoulders relax slightly, but her sense is still not calmed. Shapeshifters. Ghouls. Spirits? She couldn’t think of what else. Bobby was eyeing her intensely. She met his eyes and held his stare.

“John, I think you can drop the act. Mary just gave us all a dose of holy water,” Bobby says. Everyone turns to look at her, and her eyebrows shoot up. They know what holy water is? In the sense that they know what it’s for? Bobby called her out on that so fast. John and Sam are looking at her, shocked.

Dean looks confused, and mildly shocked.

“Mary… How do you have this?” John asks quietly. “Did you get it from a priest?”

“John, there are a lot of things I never told you. Some to protect you, a lot because you didn’t need to know,” She says by way of explanation.

“Mom why do you have that?” Dean asks. He’s the only one still confused, unfortunately.

“You’re a hunter,” Bobby says, and she can tell he’s fascinated because he’s smiling slightly.

“ _Ex_ -hunter. I gave that up when I married John. Mary Campbell is dead,” Mary says, glaring at Bobby. Why, why, _why_ did he have to do this? Dean was _normal_. He was happy. They’re about to take his life away. Mary knows her son. She knows that the second Dean knows what’s out there, he’s going to charge in head-first, stupid, and get himself hurt. She knows, she has seen it happen before.

“Mary, how could you not tell me what was out there? How could you let me live in the dark like that?” John asks, as if Mary is the bad guy in all of this.

“Did you honestly want to know? If I had told you about the shit that hides in the dark, would you honestly want to know that was out there? That monsters and demons are real? Can you honestly say that would have made our family stronger? I don’t think you can, John. I was giving us protection. I was keeping us _safe_ ,” Mary shot at him. How can he be upset at her for this?

“Mom, _what the hell_ is going on?” Dean asks, his eyes are round as saucers. Mary’s heart is broken. This is the moment she never, _ever,_ wanted to live through.

“Dean, do you remember those stories of monsters I used to tell you about when you asked for scary stories?” Dean nods, his eyebrows knitting together. “I didn’t make those up. They’re real, Dean. I used to hunt them when I was a kid. My parents hunted them. My grandparents hunted them. It was our family business.”

Den sits there, shaking his head. He looks at everyone at the table for a moment, then gets up and leaves. He grabs his keys off the counter and slams the door behind him. There’s a sound of an engine, and then Dean is gone.

“I’m glad you didn’t tell us,” John whispers after a minute. Mary nods, and looks at Sam.

Sam is stoic, not shocked or surprised. Her heart falls.

“Sam… you don’t…” She trails off, not even able to finish the sentence. Sam meets her eyes, and the regret is there, the truth. The proverbial truth. The ugly, painful truth. No.

_No_.

“John Winchester, you made my boy a hunter!” Mary roars, ripping the gun out of her waistband and firing. She doesn’t think in that moment. She does. She is livid. The _one thing_ that she promised she would never let her boys become, her ex-husband willing turned one into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gives an alligator it's wings! (If you know that reference comment down below and WE SHALL BOND OVER GOOD TASTE.)
> 
> *note: all errors are mine, but please let me know, I write all this at three in the morning because I don't sleep, and then I don't edit it because I'm horrifically lazy. <3*


	4. Chapter 4

Bobby jumps back, surprised, and Sam sits there, gaping and shocked, his head whipping back between her and John.

John swears and grabs his arm. Mary knows she only grazed him. It’s all she meant to do. She wasn’t aiming to kill him. She’s not an idiot. She is, however, a very pissed off mother, which is in some ways worse.

“What the hell did you shoot me for?” John says through gritted teeth. Mary stomps to the counter and grabs a clean towel, throwing it at him angrily. He catches is and stares at her, shocked. She’s pacing across the kitchen, waving the gun angrily as she yells at him.

“John Winchester, the _one thing_ I promised myself I would do when I married you was to keep you all safe. Keep you all normal. Keep you all _happy_. Then things don’t work out for us and you go and do exactly what I tried to stop. How could you do that to Sam? Did you even give him a childhood? Or did the obsession get you? Did it eat your soul alive? Did it leave you craving the next fight? The next kill? The next creature? _How could you do this?_ ” Mary shouted, waving the gun as she spoke, making the three hunters in this room very nervous.

“Mom, give me the gun,” Sam says, holding out his hand. Mary shakes her head, walking back to the sink to slide it back where she keeps it. She shuts the cabinet and stands there, in shock.

She should have noticed it sooner. This wasn’t the John she married. This man was hardened. John was all soft smiles and sarcastic jokes that made her laugh for hours. This man had stone cold anger in his eyes.

Sam didn’t deserve this. He was just a baby. He deserved to grow up normal, like Dean had. He deserved a chance to go out for sports or band or join a club or an event. He deserved school dances and food fights and silly school drama and crushes. He deserved a life. Mary’s sick to her stomach again.

“Did you even give Sam a chance?” Mary whispers. John looks down at the table, and so does Bobby. Sam is looking at her, something like love in his eyes, and it makes Mary tear up.

He’s up in a second and hugging her, and she’s holding onto him like she can’t stand anymore. Her son, her flesh and bones, is a hunter. The thought makes her sick. It’s her worst fear come true.

“Mom, regardless of the way I grew up, I’m me. And this is what you get. But I’m here, we’re all here,” Sam whispers into her neck. She holds him tighter, letting him cradle her, which is wrong, she should be the one to hold him. She’s his mother.

“I can’t help it, Sam. Dean got this whole childhood that you didn’t and it’s not fair. You shouldn’t have been put into that,” Mary whispers, for his ears only.

“We came here for a reason, Mom. We need to talk to you. You and Dean aren’t safe,” Sam says, gently guiding her back to the table, sitting her down in Dean’s old seat. She’s sure he’s cruising around, now. Probably good and lost, like he always does when he’s upset.

John pulls out a folder. He slides it to her.

“We thought this conversation would be a lot longer, and… well, less bloody,” Bobby says, glancing at John as he literally _chuckles_ , like this entire situation is hilarious. “But the gist of it is that you and Dean aren’t safe. We need to get you out of here, soon,” he says. He has a drawl to his voice, and Mary’s thinking he comes from up north, probably North or South Dakota.

“What’s going on?” Mary asks. She might not be able to put another bullet in or around John, which she’s honestly kind of itching to do, but she can keep Dean safe. She can keep half of her promise. Half is better than nothing

And then Bobby lays it out for her. The suicides _weren’t_ suicides. She was right. What she wasn’t expecting was that Demons were most-likely behind it. She figured maybe some sort of spell, but Demons were fairly uncommon, in her time she had only seen maybe six or seven. The yellow-eyed one was the only one she ever really spoke to.

“So you’re telling me, my friends are all dying, and you think Dean and/or myself are next?” Mary questions. She believes them. She wouldn’t under any other circumstance, but the fact that they came because of the suicides is what gets her. The suicides were already fishy, so close together. Now they’re an omen. A warning to get out while she can.

“Yes. You need to come with us. We can keep you safe,” John says. Mary raises an eyebrow, ready to yell at him again, when Sam interjects.

“Not that you need saving, but maybe backup?” He tries, giving her a small smile. She stares at him for a minute. He’s smart, she can tell. Smarter than her, smarter than Dean. She smiles weakly at him and nods. She’s still having trouble processing this.

“Where did Dean go? You need to start packing up your stuff,” Bobby says, already up and sprinkling salt on the window sills.

“There’s rock-salt in the back of the last cupboard on the right,” Mary says helpfully. John raises an eyebrow, Sam smiles, and Bobby just nods.

“I’ll go pack. Sam, would you like to help me?” Mary questions, gesturing for him to follow her.

Sam nods, jumping out of his seat like an excited puppy. She can’t help but find him endearing. He’s earnest.

They ascend the stairs, passing her room and going to Dean’s. Dean’s room is messy, spectacularly messy. Sam sucks in a breath and steps over a pile of clothes.

“Dean doesn’t believe in laundry hampers,” Mary chuckles, opening his closet to grab all the duffels he has. She sets them on the bed, and motions for Sam to sit.

“Okay, I’ll sort and fold, you pack,” She says. Sam nods and sits down, silent as the night. He opens one of Dean’s duffels and looks at her, ready to help.

They work together in silence for a few minutes. Mary rolling all of Dean’s pants and jeans, then his underwear, then his shirts, socks, an extra pair of boots. Once she’s packed all of his clothes, there’s still some room in one of the duffels.

“I need to know. Tell me about you childhood,” Mary says suddenly, breaking the silence. She’s standing in front of Dean’s dresser, taking pictures out of picture frames.

“It goes kind of how you imagine. I guess a lot like yours did. I could draw a devils trap when I was four. Performed my first exorcism when I was ten. I cleaned out a vamp nest at sixteen, I guess kind of like what you did?” Sam ventures form the bed. He’s trying to compare them, maybe to keep her from shooting his dad again. She kind of enjoys the way he tries to cleverly calm her down.

Mary shakes her head. Not what she meant, although now she might shoot John again. This was their son and he just took his life away.

“No, I mean you. Tell me about your friends and your school and what you like and don’t like,” Mary says, turning to Sam, handing him the pictures. He packs them, zips them up, and stands with all the bags. Mary walks out, pointing to where he can set them, and then he follows her into her room.

She digs through her closet, picking out what she can easily move in and the clothes she loves. Underwear. Socks. Shoes. She hands them to Sam, who lays them on the bed.

“I graduated from high school early, at sixteen,” Sam says. Mary turns to look at him, her eyes wide.

“I could tell you were smart,” Mary said quietly. Sam smiles at her. An honest to God smile, and it’s so beautiful she wants to spend the rest of her life making him smile like that again. She decides that’s enough clothes and moves to her bathroom, grabbing her bath products and everything else she thinks she will need. _Take what you’ll need soon. Leave the things you can buy again._ She walks back out, setting them on the bed and heading for all the pictures in her room. Pictures of her and Dean. Her and her parents. The one on her bedside table or her and John with Dean and Sam. It’s her favorite picture, it hangs everywhere in the house. She must have gotten thirty developed.

“I have a good friend, Jo. She’s great. Um… Her dad was a hunter, but then he… Anyways. We’re pretty close. I live at Uncle Bobby’s with him and Dad, and I like it there, it’s very secluded and quiet. I really like to read, I’ve read all of Bobby’s library twice, I think. I don’t really know what else,” Sam says, looking uncomfortable with talking about himself.

“You’re so much like Dean, both of you much too modest,” She says, somewhat distracted with taking the pictures out of their frames.

“Can you tell me about him?” Sam asks, quiet. She looks up, and his eyes are just flooding with curiosity. She understands the feeling. The craving to know about what you have never had.

“Dean is amazing. He took his college to state championships for Soccer three years in a row. He’s almost done with his master’s degree for engineering. He and Micah opened a dance studio, but I think he’s about to sell his share,” Mary trails off, seeing that Sam has questions already.

“Who’s Micah? And he has a dance studio? Does he dance?” Sam asks, leaning in closer, drunk on the information. Mary smiles at him, reaching out to push a strand of hair out of his eyes, because she can. Because he’s her son.

“Micah is Dean’s boyfriend. I think they’ve been together since they were seventeen. They opened the studio, Dean to teach part time, and Micah because he thought it was a sound investment. They do pretty well, actually. Yes, Dean does dance, he started ballet when he was eight, and he’s really good,” Mary can’t help but boast. He’s her baby, she helped make him into an adult. She raised him.

Sam sits there, eyes swimming with this new information. She can see the hunger there, the same one in her eyes that needs to know everything about him. She needs to know Sam, inside and out, like she knows Dean. She’s lost so much time and now she can’t stand the idea of losing another second.

Mary reaches under her bed for her suitcase, putting everything they’ve laid out on the bed into it, and then zipping it closed. She motions for him to follow her, dragging the suitcase behind her. He grabs the bags of Dean’s stuff and they head downstairs, where she is surprised to see Dean.

He doesn’t look happy. He’s glaring at John and Bobby. When he sees her, his expression softens, and damn if that doesn’t make her melt a little bit inside.

He walks up to her, grabs her into his arms, and hugs her so tightly she can’t breathe. She lets his for a few seconds before she pats him softly.

He lets her go, and she can see how upset he is.

“Is it true? Those things are all really out there?” He asks, one more time. He needs to hear it from her mouth. Mary nods, and hugs him again while he says nothing.

“Dean, we aren’t safe here anymore. I packed your clothes, go make sure that I didn’t miss anything. Don’t pack what we can buy again,” She tells him, and pushes him gently towards the stairs. He goes up slowly, in a daze.

She walks to the living room, pulling the pictures out of picture frames. These are her memories. Pictures of her parents. She grabs photo albums and the key hidden in the bookshelf that opens a storage unit upstate.

She packs all of these things, and waits in silence with John and Sam. Dean comes down the stairs a minute later, holding a slim book.

“Bobby went to get the truck,” John says. Mary nods, not looking at him. She can’t stand to. Not yet.

“How’s your arm?” She asks, only a little bit proud of herself.

“What happened to your arm?” Dean asks, looking at John.

“Your mother shot me,” He says, and even he seems to find humor in it.

Dean’s head whips to Mary so fast it looks like it hurts. He stares at her, wide eyed and shocked. She stares back, trying for an innocent face, but failing. She cracks a smile, and then John snorts, and then they’re both cracking up. It’s not funny, but it is.

Sam and Dean stare at each other as Mary and John laugh. They continue to laugh until it grows and they have to sit down on the couch because their sides hurt.

Dean looks at Sam and shrugs. Sam gives him a little smile and shrugs back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not totally happy with parts of this chapter but meh. Not going to freak over it (much).
> 
> Feadback is always good :)
> 
> P.S. WHO SAW LAST NIGHTS EPISODE (10.21) BECAUSE I AM SO UPSET OK. (no spoilers in the comments for people who haven't seen it yet, please!)


	5. Chapter 5

The car ride to South Dakota is awkward. Mary gets stuck in Bobby’s truck with John and Bobby, while Sam takes Dean and follows behind in John’s old impala.

 “So… Do we hug? It could be like Days of Our Lives,” Dean snickers. Sam turns his head briefly from the wheel to shoot Dean a look that conveys he’s not amused. Dean sees him try to suppress a smile, however, so he counts it as a win.

“No, I guess we should get to know each other. Being that we share blood and all,” Sam says. Dean nods, running his hand over his face.

“Well, tell me about hunting. I guess we’ll just trade stories,” Dean says.

“Okay, well, I learned to draw a Devil’s trap when I was four, Dad kept yelling at me because I called the incantations squiggles,” Sam says, laughing at the memory. Dean didn’t find it very funny.

“Devil’s trap?” He asks. Sam nods, pointing to a beaten up notebook on the dashboard.

“That’s my go-to guide. You might want to look through it, considering everything,” Sam says. Dean nods, grabbing the notebook and opening it.

“Woah, dude. There’s stuff I learned about in my mythology courses in here. You actually deal with gods?” Dean questions, seemingly shocked.

“You took mythology courses? What about?” Sam asks, interested. College had always been a pipe dream, something John would never let him have but he always secretly wanted.

“Lots of stuff, origins of holidays and mythological creatures. There was a huge study on Dante last semester that was really awesome,” Dean says, eyes never leaving the notebook. Sam looks over at him, surprised to see Dean actually reading his overly-detailed notes.

Dean doesn’t look like him. Dean is broader and cut and he has freckles everywhere. Sam can’t stop staring at the freckles. It’s more than a little distracting, trying to catch glimpses of them in the streetlights that pass by overhead. Dean’s got arched lips and high cheekbones and he’s extremely tan. Sam stops this train of thought with a jolt. _He’s your brother, dumbass._

“So, are we going to go hunting?” Dean asks, completely serious. Sam chokes on air at the question.

“We? No way. You’ll get yourself killed. And then I’ll get killed by mom for letting you go,” Sam says, shaking his head. He’s internally smiling at the word mom, however. He’s never gotten to say that before. Sam feels bad for telling him no, but really. If Dean can stay out of hunting, he has a chance of a normal life at some point.

“What if I want to? You said you help people. That’s what I want to do. I mean, sure, I’m an engineering student, but I minored in mythology. I know my way around old books. I want to help. I know how to fight, why not let me try?” Dean questions.

“Sure, and what flowers would you like me to bring to your memorial?” Sam asks, harshly. Dean gives him this look, full of tempered rage and turns away, flipping to a new page in Sam’s notebook. Sam tries extremely hard not to look at Dean again.

He fails at this goal.

-

“John, I need you to explain to me what’s been going on,” Mary says, looking at John evenly. To Bobby’s credit, he stares straight ahead and keeps his eyes on the road. John shifts in his seat and then turns to face her.

“Mary, it’s been demons the whole time. The divorce was set up. The secretary? The judge splitting up the boys like that? Your friends encouraging you to leave me? My boss firing me? Demons. They split us up for a reason. I knew it was odd, especially because they split up Sam and Dean, but I never could put it together past getting a psychic to tell me demons were involved in the first place.

“Then, while Sam is performing his first exorcism,” John pauses to put his hand on top of Mary’s, as if to remind him that she’s already shot him once, “this demon started calling Sam the Boy King, which is what other demons I’d exorcised in the last few years had been spewing on about. I started putting things together, thinking maybe our divorce had nothing to do with us, but our kids.”

Mary stiffens, and looks away, thinking back to all the times her friends had told her she was better off without John, that she would be happier when he was gone. She wonders if they’ve always been there, watching her like that. It sends a pang through her chest, letting her know that she never got out of the life, not really.

“It was Sammy’s research that sealed the deal. The same month we got divorced, almost ten women died in nursery fires. They all had children that were exactly six months old on the night of their death, just like how Sammy was exactly six months old the night we separated.”

Mary sit there, contemplating. So much of her life has been one lie after the other. She pales, looking at John but unable to say anything.

John looks at her, then tentatively reaches out, pulling her into his chest. She lets him, and as she falls into his worn jacket she lets the tears fall. She sobs, and sobs, sobs for the family she never got to have. Sobs for the husband and son that were ripped away from her for a reason she doesn’t understand. He’s not the John she married, she’s more than sure he died years ago. This John smells like Whiskey and gunpowder, like her childhood, but Mary can’t seem to find it in herself to mind this John either.

John holds her, and while his arm stings, he feels alive like he hasn’t in years. The woman who made his life meaningful is in his arms, and for the first time in twenty years John feels like he has more than a snowball’s chance at fixing some of this mess.

After the tears have fallen, Mary lays against him, staring out the window.

“What about Sam? What do they want with him?” Mary whispers.

“I don’t know, Sam pieced this together and we rushed to find you. What we really need is information. People are still dying and we need to stop it,” John sighs, and Mary feels a hand in her hair, which is comforting in ways she had forgotten.

“I can get us information,” Mary says, and this time Bobby turns to look at her, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“How?” He gruffs, good-naturedly but also hostile.

“Daddy didn’t raise no fool, Mr. Singer,” Mary says, smiling in a way that John has never seen before. It’s both unsettling and the equivalent of lighting a match inside of him

-

When they all arrive at Bobby’s, there’s already a game plan in motion.

“Bobby is going to stay here and help you learn to shoot, Dean. Mary and I are going to follow up on some leads and tie up some loose ends,” John says, straight to the point. Dean nods, confused. He looks to Sam, who is resolutely not looking at him

“I know it’s a lot to take in, Dean. But it looks like we’re going to have to hunt down whatever is going after these people, and if you don’t know how to fight…” Mary trails off, and Dean nods. He understands. He feels another course of rage go through his veins at Sam’s brush-off of him wanting to hunt. It’s like he’s talking to Micah all over again. Trying to make sense in that brain, but never able to.

The next morning, after an uncomfortable night on the couch, Dean’s up bright and early, holding a handgun, aiming at beer bottles on a fence 50 feet away. Sam is sitting behind him on the porch, his nose in a very old book about Jewish mythology.

“In my experience, a good trigger pull is one of the most important aspects of shooting well. You want to put your dominant hand on the inside of your grip. Keep the pad of your finger on the trigger, and try not to jerk when you fire, because you’ll throw the shot off,” Bobby says, fixing Dean’s shoulders and legs. Dean nods, taking his words in and committing them to memory.

He stands there a moment longer, staring at the line of beer bottles on the fence post. He squints in the sunlight, takes a deep breath and fires several shots, one right after the other. He keeps his ground steady, makes sure his grip is right, and aims for a different bottle each time.

The sound of glass breaking is covered up by the sounds of the gun. When Dean puts the gun down, both Sam and Bobby are staring at him, their mouths slightly open in shock.

Each one of the bottles is broken. Dean smirks and looks at Sam.

“I’ll take lilies at my funeral, thanks,” Dean says, and then walks inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been home for three days with the sinus infection from hell, but thankfully I already have a good chunk of chapters written, so I've been posting all week what I've already written. Once I'm done posting the pre-written chapters, it should slow to about once a week. HOWEVER I'm almost out for summer break so maybe twice a week once June starts? (I'm sickeningly optimistic. And also on a LOT of antibiotics...)
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. <3


	6. Interlude(ish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some questions about Dean's shooting that I was going to answer later, but decided to move up to now to ease the confusion. Thank you to those who pointed out undeveloped ideas. I assure you I know where this story is going and I'm going to try to tie up everything, but your opinions do help me, thank you!
> 
> Enjoy the little interlude, contains little snips of their two years together before we get into the plot of Season 1. More from these two years will come later as well :)

Sam’s eyes snap open. Someone’s in the house. He can feel it. It’s not right. Sam’s slowly reaching under his pillow for his pistol, keeping completely silent. A cough breaks the stillness in the room.

Sam rolls over, confused. Who the fuck is in his room? It’s _his_ room. John hasn’t come in here in years, and Bobby only comes in to talk to Sam or hide from John when he’s on the warpath. No one comes in his room at night.

Then, everything hits like a train.

Dean. Mom. Dad and Mom leaving. Leaving Dean here. Dean being kind of an ass. Sam’s brother is sleeping on the floor. His brother that has such delicate features and huge shoulders and too much of an attitude. What is Sam’s life anymore?

Dean rolls over, wide awake. Sam startles, the movement sudden and unwelcome in the calm stillness of the night.

“I can feel you hyperventilating,” Dean says. Even in the dark Sam knows he has that stupid fucking smirk on his face. Sam is dreading that it might be something he’s going to see quite a bit of.

“Shut up,” Sam mutters, pulling his blanket up to his chin, as if Dean won’t be able to see him when he’s under the blanket.

“You’re the one freakin’ out,” Dean says, calm and steady, like his whole life hasn’t been uprooted in the last week. How does he do that? How is he so calm? It’s not fair.

“How are you such a good shot? I thought you’d never touched a gun before. That’s what Ma- Mom said,” Sam says, pushing himself up on an elbow to stare at Dean’s outline in the darkness.

“Never told Mom ‘cause I thought she’d freak out if I touched a gun, but Micah and I learned how to shoot when we were twenty. He thought it would be a fun date, and it was. Well, for me, at least,” Dean says, and the last part is muttered, quiet, not for Sam’s ears. There are two directions this conversation can go, and Sam isn’t sure which one he’s more curious about. He knows which one he should ask about, however, so he leads with that. The other one he files away, in the cabinet labeled ‘no touching for any reason’ and refuses to let himself think about it again.

“You’re a good shot, for an amateur,” Sam says teasingly, testing the waters. Is this allowed? Can they do this? Can they have this kind of friendship?

Dean must think about it, too. There is a pause, and then a jokingly muttered, “Shut up, bitch.”

There is it, the first part. It’s a step. Towards where, Sam doesn’t know. But he rolls with it, like he tries to with everything.

“Jerk,” He says, and the smile on his face feels so good, he wants to smile like this forever.

-

Sam comes downstairs on a lazy morning in October, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. He got five hours of sleep last night, and he is in that strange place between exhausted and energized. He pauses when he sees Dean at the kitchen table. They put him on phone duty last night, and it seems he fell asleep instead of going upstairs to sleep.

Sam walks by, blowing hard into Dean’s left ear. He shoots up, spinning around wildly and glaring when his bleary eyes settle on Sam’s cackling form.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Dean mutters, standing up from the table. He yawns and brings his arms up to move in awkward angles. His face contorts and he twists, the vertebrae in his back popping, and he lets a breath out.

“Hey jerk, don’t be mad because you fell asleep on phone duty,” Sam chides, opening the fridge and leaning forward to look through it. Sam frowns. The only things in the fridge are a few jars of dead man’s blood, some beer and a questionable orange. Sam sighs, closing the fridge as his stomach growls angrily.

“Okay, I need to make a food run, are you coming with?” Sam asks, looking at Dean, who is staring at Sam with blank, glazed over eyes.

“Dean?” Sam asks when he gets no response.

“What? Oh, yeah, ‘course Sammy. Lemme get dressed,” Dean mutters, turning to walk upstairs.

“Dean!” Sam calls.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, popping his head back into the kitchen.

“You’re already dressed,” Sam says, pointing at Dean’s clothing with a smile. Dean looks down, suddenly shocked over the fact that he has clothes. He tried valiantly to recover.

“Right. I knew that,” Dean muttered, grabbing the car keys off the table and walking out the door, head held high. Sam smiles and follows him, shaking his head.

-

Mary and John are home for once, and something is different between them. They’re close now, sharing a bedroom, and its new territory for everyone. Sam and Dean communicate with silent looks and head nods over the dinner table. Mary notices this and keeps her head down, smiling to herself. It’s like some dream, Sam and Dean, talking in their own way, with nods and signals.

John looks between his sons, unable to understand how they had gotten here all of a sudden. It has always been Sam and John, the two of them, sometimes with Bobby, sometimes without. All of a sudden their three has become five. They are a family, odd as they may be. They share strange histories and a complex bond.

Dean rolls his eyes at something Sam mouthed to him, apparently ending their conversation and going back to the process of inhaling the food on his plate. Mary is suddenly reminded of that night so many years ago when Dean told her about Micah, and came out to her.

“Dean?” Mary asks quietly.

“Mhmm?” He hums, chewing an alarming amount of steak in his mouth. Sam rolls his eyes at Dean and snorts. Dean smiles, showing half of the food in his mouth in response. Sam’s face tightens and he calls Dean a jerk. Dean just smiles wider in response.

“Have you talked to Micah since we left? It’s been almost a year,” Mary says quietly. The table is plunged into silence. Sam meets eyes with his mother, shaking his head in the smallest way. John looks at Mary, confused. She hadn’t told him about Micah, and apparently neither had anyone else.

“No,” Dean says shortly. He stares at his food, setting his fork down. Mary feels guilty, she shouldn’t have asked. Hindsight is always 20/20 and all. John is still confused, and also too pigheaded to understand boundaries.

“Who is Micah?” John asks, sounding hurt and angry at being left out of the loop. Mary looks at him, shaking her head. _Later_ , she tries to telepathically scream at him. It apparently has no effect.

“Dean, who is Micah?” John asks, curious and yet apprehensive at the same time. Dean coughs and looks up, eyes steely hard and his face closed off. Mary knows Dean’s not going to say a thing.

“It’s nothing. Just an old friend,” Dean says, and then stands up, marching outside onto the porch. Mary sighs, putting her fork down. Her appetite is gone. She gives John a glare before she excuses herself, going upstairs to their bedroom to take some air.

-

Sam coughs again, rolling over to burrow further into his blankets. The groan that comes out of him doesn’t sound human. There is a sigh from the door, which Sam doesn’t hear due to his wallowing.

“Sam, did you eat?” Dean’s voice asks from the doorway. Sam groans and hopes that Dean can understand that. Apparently he does, because there’s no other sound from the doorway. Sam shivers and closes his eyes, trying to sleep away whatever the hell has got him so sick. He can’t keep anything down, he sleeps twenty hours a day, and his body is killing him. Bobby went to get him some Tamiflu, and Dean has been faithfully taking care of him for five days already.

Dean is suddenly sitting on his bed, rolling Sam over. Sam whines because Dean’s moved the blankets and now he’s cold again. Dean smiles at how pathetic Sam is being. He hold up a mug full of something steamy. Sam shakes his head. He knows exactly what’s going to happen the second he puts that in his stomach. He has no desire to see it a second time.

“Sam, you’re going to take sips of this. If you don’t I’m going to pour it down your mouth myself,” Dean says, smiling and gently brushing Sam’s greasy hair off of his face. Sam internally cringes at how gross he must be. He can tell he’s lost weight and he hasn’t been able to hold himself up long enough to take a shower.

“Okay,” Sam mutters, winding a hand out of the covers just enough to grab the cup and latch onto it, sipping from it gently. He can feel the warmth of whatever he is sipping go down his chest and settle pleasantly in his stomach. He smiles awkwardly at Dean in thanks, who pats him gently on the shoulder and takes a seat on his bed, watching to make sure Sam keeps it down.

-

Dean is terrifying like this. He’s ruthless. He’s not entirely human, parts of him are grafted from metal and fire and stone. He’s a match in a room full of gas. He’s been hunting a year and a half and he’s a machine. It’s terrifying and exhilarating in ways Sam doesn’t like to think about.

Dean’s face is stone, gun loaded and ready to fire at any moment. He looks around, signaling to Sam to move on to the next room. Sam does so, checking before signing back an all clear. Dean drops his gun, listening. Sam is watching. That’s their usual routine. Sam is the ears, Dean is the eyes, and they’re both the brain.

A scream echoes down the long hallway of the industrial building. It’s female, and familiar. They lock eyes and slowly make their way in the direction. Dean moves his hand, telling Sam to go on straight while he takes the back. Sam nods and moves on alone, trusting Dean to have his back.

He comes to the end of the hallway, stops and listens. There are the sounds of the old building, sagging under the weight of time. Walls creak and groans are heard, as if the building is being held up purely by the grace of God.

“Sam!” Someone screams. It’s not Dean, but Sam’s blood goes cold anyways. It’s his mother, screaming like she’s being tortured. Sam is off in an instant, darting down turn and hallway until he’s lost. All of a sudden the hallways stop, and he’s in an open room. It’s huge. Half of the walls have been taken down by time and nature, leaving the moonlight to fall through and provide the only light in the huge room.

Mary sits there, her face beaten, tied to a chair and crying. She calls for him, trying to reach out as she cobs and heaves in gulps of air.

A part of Sam’s heart breaks, and he feels his resolve crumble. Sam walks towards her, his gun still in the air.

“When’s my birthday?” Sam asks, his gun shaking in his hand. He needs to keep this up, keep this together, keep everything together.

“What? Sammy help me. It’s going to come back!” Mary says, struggling at the ropes that confine her. Sam holds his ground, if only just barely.

“When is my birthday?” Sam asks again, slower. It’s not her. Mary would know in a heartbeat, would understand why she needs to answer this. He feels his pulse drop down to a steady pace. It’s not her.

“Sam, untie me!” She shouts, and now Sam knows it’s not Mary. Mary doesn’t shout like that. Her panic is collected. Her anger is thought out. She does not panic this way. It’s not her.

Mary’s body jerks with the sound of a gunshot. Her eyes opening in shock before her head lolls to the side a moment, lifeless. Dean walks over, his face made of marble. Unreadable.

He moves her forward, and the ropes fall off. Mary was never tied down, not really. Just tied enough to look realistic. Ready to jump the second Sam got close enough.

The hole in her back is covered in blood and blisters.

“Silver bullet, stops the shifters every time,” Sam says, and ushers Dean away. The mask he’s wearing is already crumbling. It wasn’t Mary. Sam repeats this to himself and Dean as he leads him to the car, setting him in the passenger seat.

Sam knows this hunt hasn’t been easy on Dean. The shifter took a liking to them, taking on their father, Bobby, and even both of them to screw with Sam and Dean. It’s been a hell of a week. Dean sighs in the passenger seat as Sam turns the Impala on. Sam wants to ask. He’s dying to ask. He needs to know what Dean is thinking. Feeling.

He doesn’t ask anything, and the ride back to Bobby’s is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always amazing :)
> 
> *Please let me know if you see any errors, I've been AP testing all day and today I seem to be having issues with things like comprehension and being a person.*


	7. Chapter 7

**2004 - Two Years Later**

“I swear! I swear! I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, lady!” The demon shouts. Mary rolls her eyes and throws some more holy water on him. He scream again, struggling against his confinements.

“You are going to talk either way. I am going to send you back to hell either way. The only choice you have here is whether I make it slow and excruciating or quick and less painful,” Mary says, kindly, as she throws more holy water on the demon. He screams again.

John watches from the corner. This is his wife. This is the same woman who used to hold him when he had war flashbacks and would go fishing with him in the summer. This is the woman who would wake him up with breakfast in bed and wore his shirts everywhere. This is Mary, but not really. That Mary isn’t necessarily dead, she’s just altered. Mixed in with hunting and death and anger. It’s all a confusing mess at this point to John. He loves her anyway.

The Mary he married never tortured anything. She looked the other way when there was a dead animal in the street. She sang their children lullabies from The Beatles. She made him dinner and watched game shows with him on the couch.

John is still, two years later, grasping at straws, trying to merge these two women together. It’s strange, watching the love of his life threaten to send a demon to hell. John watches her lean down in front of the demon and smile. It was such a believable smile, one she had given John multiple times when they were together so long ago. It sends a jolt through John’s body, and makes him wonder how many times her smile was actually genuine.

The Mary he’s with now is different. She holds him at night like she used to, but she also cleans and field strips her guns before bed. She does two walk throughs of Bobby’s house, right after Dean but before Bobby does, she sleeps with a knife under her pillow and a gun under the bed. She hold the knife in one hand and him in the other. John can’t decide how to feel about the new Mary. He loves Mary, he will no matter what form she’s in. But he spent so long fixating on the Apple Pie Mary. The Mary that was a lie. The real Mary is different, and John is still coming to terms with this realization.

“Listen. I know I’m putting you in a hard place here. But you already know your options. I’ll give you to the count of three before I pour a bag of rock salt down your throat,” Mary says, smiling the whole time. John watches as she keeps smiling while she slowly opens the bag of rock salt.

She doesn’t even get to three before the demon cracks.

“Yellow eyes! It’s all yellow eyes! It’s him you want, not me!” The demon cries. Something changes in Mary. Her posture goes rigid. Her smile drops in an instant. Her eyes are hard and cold and John has never seen this in Mary before.

“Yellow eyes, huh? How is he?” Mary drawls, hauling the bag of salt up to hold it in her arms. Mary is pissed. John can tell. She has turned that look on him before.

“He sends his regards,” The demon says, smiling. Mary smiles back, then dumps the rock salt down his throat. His screams echo through the abandoned warehouse, and Mary finishes the exorcism quickly.

She stands there when it’s all over. John walks towards her slowly, holding his arms out. Surprisingly, she takes one look at him and the composure she had before is gone. She’s pulling him close and breathing heavily and holding onto him so tight he figures he’ll have at least a few bruises from where her hands are digging into his shoulder.

“John,” Mary whispers. He holds her tighter in response. “John, a yellow eyed demon killed my parents,” Mary says, pulling back and shaking her head.

“What?” He asks, more than a little bit confused. “I thought your parents died on a hunt, Mary.”

“They did, they were hunting it,” Mary says, and she steps back from him, breathing calmly and composing herself. That was another thing that was different about her. She didn’t depend on him, not really. Maybe she never did, and John had just imagined that. Maybe it’s because Mary didn’t have to hide her past anymore.

“John,” she says suddenly, startling him from his internal monologue. “John, we need to leave, now. The boys aren’t safe hunting this with us. He’ll kill them. He doesn’t play around,” Mary says, and she’s looking him dead in the eye, and he knows she’s right.

“We’re not good in such a big group, they’re our weakness, John.”

-

“Sam, they haven’t called in a week. They haven’t sent coordinates or codes. They haven’t checked into the first motel in the phone book under their aliases. Something is off. I know it. You know it. Bobby would know it if he was here. We need to go look for them,” Dean pleads, grabbing Sam’s top shirt and shaking him a little bit. Sam is giant and firm, holding steady despite the way that rattles Dean.

“Okay, okay, Dean! Where was the last place you talked to them?” Sam asked, prying Dean’s insistent hand off of him and smoothing out his shirt from Dean’s grasp.

The last two years had been something of a dream to Sam and Dean. They lived under one roof, they had both their parents, together, and they finally got to meet each other. Things were different from what Sam had imagined. He’d always pictured his big brother as someone who was going to be there for him, who would teach him how to throw a baseball and take him on road trips and have inside jokes with.

Sam did get those things, just not the way he imagined. Dean was there for him, fierce, overprotective, and so damn loyal, as if Sam would leave again if he didn’t hold on so tight. Dean didn’t teach him how to throw a baseball, but he did teach him how to identify mythological creatures by their different characteristics. He showed Sam how to rebuild an engine, and how the concept of space travel is so complicated, but Dean’s eyes are so alive when he talks about thermonuclear dynamics that Sam lets him babble on forever, content to watch Dean in his element. Dean’s inside jokes were sarcastic insults, said with a smile and a wink. Their road trips are pretty great though, finding every Ma and Pop motel they can and living off of diner food. Sam enjoys it so much he sometimes forgets to complain about the grease.

Dean’s imaginations of his younger brother were different as well. Before he’d met Sam, he imagined a younger version of himself, someone who could help him take apart engines and fight over the remote with and listen to mullet rock with. Someone he could pass his knowledge of life down to, so that they could grow up better than him.

In reality, Sam couldn’t find his way around an engine, even with a step-by-step instructional guide. He takes the remote and hides it from Dean for days. Sam hates mullet rock with such a passion that Dean plays it as loud as he can stand it when it’s his turn to drive. It’s so painfully clear that Sam is his own person it sometimes hits Dean in a way that he pretends doesn’t happen. It’s better for everyone if he pretends he doesn’t get those _feelings_.

“I talked to them last week, when we were in Karnes City checking out that Vetala rumor. Total crap by the way, we need like a spam filter on our phones. There’s too many idiots out there that know too much. How do they get out numbers, anyways? We might as well take out a sign over Wal-Mart,” Dean said, angrily stomping up the stairs, presumably to pack a bag. Sam smiled and followed him up the stairs. Dean’s angry rantings might honestly be Sam’s favorite part of the day. Maybe. It’s something he likes to keep to himself.

Sam follows Dean to their room. Their room. It was odd at first, shoving another bed into the room that was already too small for one bed, but they made it work. It was odd hearing Dean’s heavy breathing in the darkness, and seeing his clothes in a wad in the corner. It was confusing to have to share his toothpaste because Dean always forgot to buy his own. It was strange walking into his bedroom after a long hunt and not having to deal with that weight alone.

Now though, it’s almost comforting. It’s nice to see someone else’s shoes on the floor, and to hear something when he wakes up from a nightmare. It’s almost fun to bicker with Dean over his (terrible) choice in music. In some sheltered part of Sam’s mind he refuses to acknowledge, he enjoys the way Dean sleeps in whatever he was wearing that day, too tired to be bothered with the idea of pajamas. That sheltered part of him finds it so ridiculously, terrifyingly endearing.

Dean’s excuse for packing is pathetic, even to Sam. He’s haphazardly shoved underwear and his toothbrush into a duffel and is already trying to head out the door.

“Dean, that’s a shit excuse for packing, even for you, man,” Sam says, grabbing his duffel and putting it back on the bed. He pulls Dean’s jeans off the floor and hands them to Dean, because despite popular belief, Sam isn’t Dean’s maid. Dean rolls his eyes but starts packing his own clothes, thankfully.

Sam nods and hastily shoves his own backpack together, grabbing his notebook and his gun, he heads out the door, knowing Dean will be right behind him.

“Dean,” Sam says as they walk down the stairs, “Where were Mom and Dad last?” Sam asks, locking the door behind him as the exit Bobby’s kitchen, heading towards the garage.

“Somewhere in southern California. Mom said it was south but not past San Diego… Jericho, I think she said. The call was kind of fuzzy,” Dean said, throwing his bag in the backseat as he started the Impala. John had given it to both of them, exchanging for a truck that Mary claimed she hated but the boys could tell she secretly loved.

Sam nods, letting Dean starts the car before he gets in. Metallica blasts on high the second Dean has turned the key in the ignition.

“Metallica? Really dude?” Sam questions incredulously. Dean smiles, sticks his tongue out and bobs his head along to the music.

“I swear, man, you gotta update your cassette tape collection,” Sam says, exasperated in a way he secretly enjoys.

“Why?” Dean asks, genuinely confused.

“Well for one, they’re cassette tapes. And two,” Sam says, pulling up Dean’s box of cassettes to mock, “Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock,” Sam says, but he’s smiling, so Dean doesn’t take it to heart.

“Sammy, you know the rule. Driver picks the music,” Dean says, grabbing the cassette tape and throwing it back in the box,” shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

Sam rolls his eyes, exasperated in a less enjoyable sort of way, this time.

“Sammy is a chubby twelve year old, Dean. It’s Sam, “He insists, uselessly.

“Yeah, okay Sammy. Whatever you say,” Dean says, leaning over to pinch Sam’s cheeks. Sam swats his hand away looking out the window with his bitchface set on high. Dean smiles.

It’s going to be a fun drive. Fun drive indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you see any grammatical errors, I ran out of contacts so everything is the not-so-fun kind of fuzzy... Feedback is always welcome!:)
> 
> This chapter also marks the end of what I already have written. It should be about a week before chapter 8 is up!

**Author's Note:**

> I know NOTHING about ballet or soccer. Please, if you can help me improve what I have described here about these things, I would be very grateful. 
> 
> Also, feedback is appreciated and welcomed, I do respond to every comment. If you have any questions or suggestions, my [tumblr page](http://driving-the-impala.tumblr.com/) is open to all (not anonymously, however. sorry!)
> 
> I am out of school in less than a month, and I already have over 12k words written for this fic, so I should be able to write and post infrequently until the end of May, and then I should be able to be posting things on a more regular basis. I apologize for the hiccups in updating.
> 
> One more note: To those of you migrating over from my other stories that I have left on Hiatus, hi again! I am so sorry about putting those on Hiatus but it was something I needed to do for my own health. One of them, at least, should be off hiatus when I get out for break. I DO intend to finish them, and if not, I will let everyone know. Thank you for being so understanding. 
> 
> -Jo


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